28 March 2011

Mud, glorious mud!

Mud - the only way out
We had a great time at this year's Robertson Show.
Once again we put many entries into the pavilion winning first prizes for our muffins, scones and biscuits (cookies), prizes and champion ribbons for cross stitch and other craft projects and generally doing rather well.
We support the show at the shop by handing out plenty of brochures and they all know how to spell our name with all the entries we put into the pavilion. When the announcer noticed Lana and the children he happily made a number of impromptu announcements about how great our shop was and suggested all should visit.
I was working at the shop with Eric and we were to meet with Lana and the rest of the family at around 4pm.  On the way there the heavens opened up and the rain poured down in a torrent.  By the time we arrived the show was very wet but plenty of people stayed around in what cover there was.
Naturally Peter and James figured this was a great time to play outside and they ended up very wet.  In this photo you can see them squeezing out the water from their shirts.
Conserving Water
They didn't really think through the final results of their drenching.  We had a 45 minute drive home and they had to strip down to their underpants as they didn't bring any spare clothes.  I suggested we go out for dinner and for once the declined quite strongly.
The other effect of the dousing with water was the only exit from the car park (parking lot)  that had been set up in the field was a superb mud patch.  As you can see from the top photo it was very thick and gooey.  I was able to get through with my little car, but Lana wasn't even able to get close to the start of the worst mud.
But the locals were ready.  With simple efficiency they backed down the 4 wheel drive, attached the rope and pulled the bus through the mud and victory.

A Wheel Dog

A Wheel Dog explained
I was sitting in my chair at the dinner table when Martin came up to me with a creation he had made with Lego.  It was two wheel sets stuck together so they formed a sort of cross.
'What's that, Martin?" I asked.
"A Wheel Dog." he answered proudly.
"A real dog?" I asked, as he sometimes doesn't get his letters correct.
"No," he answered firmly, "A wheel dog."
Then he pointed to one end and then the other.
"See, his wheel head and his wheel tail."
"Ah, of course.  It is a wheel dog."
"Yep!" and off he went very pleased with himself.